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Author
Topic: What's so Funny About AIDS? (Read 7767 times)

Okay all you kiddies out there in Pozland. Captain Carl is going to start his first ever new topic. I've been thinking a lot lately about this, and have decided to give it a shot. I most assuredly am not trying to get people upset by this. Here goes. I am a long term survivor of HIV. It has been 19 years so far. Over the years, I have gotten to know a lot of people with HIV/AIDS. The one thing I notice is that we all have funny stories to tell about something related to this disease. I think it wold be interesting to have people post their humorous stories. After all HIV/AIDS is not funny, but some of the things we go through because of it, and some of the ways we deal with it can be, and it is this side that I would like to explore. So here I go relating my own gross but funny story. Onward thru the Fog!! Last year, I was working in a small town some 20 to the south of where I live. I was at work, having something of a bad day due to side effects from the meds. I was under a lot of pressure to get a project wrapped up, and I was really moving along. I crouched down to inspect something that I'd done, and I had a little "accident" This is a euphemism for crapping in my pants. Now understand, there was no warning, it was just there, unexpectedly. I was able to duck into the bathroom and clean up. I figured that as unpleasant as it was, that I would just change my pants and keep on working and try to finish my job. About 5 minutes later it happened again. This time I took it as an omen to go home. I went and told my boss what had happened and why i was leaving. He was cool about it so I left for home. On the way out to my truck, dontcha know, and whoops, third time's the charm. I started the drive home windows rolled down, and feeling icky. At a red light, I pulled my pants down to my knees because sitting in crap was starting to bother me, and it was a long drive home. I had an old towel that I keep in the truck for the dogs, so I sat on that. A few miles up the road, the speed limit drops from 45 to 30mph, and of course just wanting to get home i was doing something over 50. So naturally, I got pulled over by the local constabulary. The officer was extremely curious about how it came to be that I was driving around with my pants down to my shins, so I showed him. I then explained that it would be best it we could wrap up the proceedings as quickly as possible, as I was likely to need a bathroom very soon. He became nervous at the thought, and sent me on my way, with a verbal warning to slow down. Apparently, I am the first person to get out of a speeding ticket in over 10 years in the village of Bosque Farms, N.M. It makes me think that if Tammy Faye Bakker can cry on cue, this might be a handy trick to master if you are a leadfoot like me. Anybody else? Happy Trails kiddies, Capt. Carl.

I had no trouble reading your story... and I thought it was hilarious. I've had no humorous HIV stories yet, but I have had a couple small accidents similar to yours. It'll be scary to see what happens when I start meds!

Bosque Farms? Whoa. I haven't been there in years. I once worked on a dig at Comanche Springs near Tome. Interesting.

I would have loved to have seen the look on the cop's face!

I lived with a nasty case of the hershey squirts for years before I was diagnosed a celiac, so I feel your pain - and the uncomfortable wam, moist feeling in your pants.

Back in March 1996, I started taking Saquinovir. Nasty stuff. I turned into a human Hindenberg. You know, a big bag of volatile gas ready to explode when you least expect it.

Well, one day, during a recess in a trial I was covering, I was chatting with some of the local deputies. I don't know where they found these guys, but Tom of Finland would have loved them.

Especially one in particular. We were joking around, and he made this crack about my being gay. So I told the joke about the blond who gets stopped by the cop, and, well, its kinda nasty, so I won't go into it.

At any rate, he ended up being the butt of the joke, in part because he was blond and in part because he didn't get the punch line. Everyone started laughing, he becamse embarrassed and started demanding and explanation, and everything just kept getting funnier.

I was laughing so hard I started passing gas with each laugh - and I couldn't stop!

Then came "that certain feeling" in my pants and I had to leave - quickly. So, there I was scurrying across the parking lot, trying to hold my butt cheeks together while moving as fast as I could - which made them laugh all the harder.

That was absolutely hilarious! And without going into my own gross out tale (bad choice of words ) let's just say I have felt yr pain.

Not to one up Carl, but I can do just a tad better.

I work about 35 mile south of home. I was at work one morning and had the "feeling" coming on. I was waiting for someone to get there with keys and of course, that day the shits where thought they were in a race.

My choices, sit and try to ride it out or go to McDonald's up the street. After debating and almost losing it, I started my car up to try to make it to McDonald's. The pressure of a super colon blow was building. Please Lord, let me make it!!!!

I had just pulled out of my work's driveway and into traffic, when I started hearing the dreaded bells. In front of me all the train gates started going down. Eh gads!!! It was the Tropicana Express. This L-O-N-G slow Tropicana train with a load of oranges heading to the plant around the corner. Screw their load, my own load was about ready to make it's grand appearance.

Long story short, I did manage to stuff some plastic grocery bags under my dripping ass before it got onto my cloth seats. But what a mess. I got home, drove right into the garage and shut the door so no neighbors would see me. I SLOWLY got out of the car and waddled like a duck to wards the shower.

If this was the dead of night and no neighbors were awake, I would have gone into the front yard, stripped and hosed off with the garden hose.

Well, that's my version of Carl's lovely tale. I need to enforce that I had to drive 35 miles wallowing in my own mess.

Oh you poor guys! When this blog began I thought it was going to be about farts, which are kinda funny in themselves. However, it turned out to be far worse. I wonder WHY these stomach-effects, whether air-variety or liquid, are a feature of HIV medication? You'd think those clever doctors could clear this one up.However you are right about one thing, and that is HUMOUR!!! As long as you can laugh, it simply doesn't matter, apart from increased laundry loads and embarrassing moments. I have even read people saying HOT AIR aids them to get to the front of the check-out line, or even to create a little much-needed space around them in a crowded place!!! We have to look at the upsides.To be serious, isn't diet a lot to do with it? I have stopped exagerating my fruit intake (after a year on meds) and feel a lot better......everything in moderation. Also, less fizzy drinks, less Mexican food, and less all those good things you crave!!!!Let's Laugh! It's the only way!Simon2

I had so much fun reading these storied. And I NEVER thought that I would be telling my Tropicana story in public.

But, it was fun telling it to someone other then my mother, who felt horrible about it at first, and of course, later teased me about it. I think what she found the funniest was the fact that I called it a "Super Colon Blow" or know commonly known to myself, her and our neighbor Joyce, an "SCB".

As Simon said, if you can't laugh at yourself...

Anyway, glad nobody has been offended and it's nice to know that I don't own the patent on the "SCB" LOL

Kiddies, thanks for sharing your stories. I was beginning to think that nobody else would, I feel much better now. Mark, your story was a gross but hilarious way to finish off a big plate of pancakes, and Patsy, yours was great!! It is true, when we can no longer laugh at ourselves, we're screwed. Big Time. Waldo and Baby Elmo could probably tell some stories about me.

It is funny afterwards but while its occurring there is nothing more humiliating or scary than crapping in your slacks in public. I usually take a couple Imodium when i go out and never,ever wear white shorts. Remember its a manageable condition,especially if you run like mutha.

I'll share not one but TWO special circumstances in the vein of this post.

The first happened while I was still working and I had stopped at a grocery store on my way home to pick up a few things. So here I am going through the produce aisle and I GET THAT UNMISTAKABLE SIGN that something really horrible was going to happen. I was taking PIs (2 of them) at the time, so no suprise as to the urgency, but I had no where to go. It was coming and I was prepared for a real incident, when I spotted the Asparagus that has those really big rubber bands tied at the base.

Deftly, I threw two bunches in my basket and then removed the bands and put one around each leg, just above the ankle. And not a moment too soon, I might add. Needless to say, I slunk out of the store, it was just too bad that I was wearing off-white pants because you could see EVERYTHING. Still cracks me up to this day.

My next adventure was actually after the Toronto gathering last year, because we went on to Montreal for a few days before going home. By the time I got to Montreal I was feeling pretty awful, which is par when we travel, but after a day or so, it became apparent that I needed some antibiotics. Ever the pharmacy, we had a few choices and so I foolishly tried a new antibiotic, Biaxin, that is essentially ex-lax in disguise.

So here we are walking down Rue Ste. Catherine, window shopping and then YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS. I realize that I have maybe 2 minutes to find a bathroom, or else. Fortunately, or at least I initially thought, there was a Burger King on the next corner, so I bolted down the block hoping to avert a catastrophe.

No sooner do I get into the bathroom, when I see the stall locked and an out of order sign. On the other wall was a set of urinals and in the left one, someone else must have had an emergency, as there sat a pile of crap. At this point I'm desperate, so I take the right one, turn around, drop my drawers and no sooner do I crouch a little and you can imagine the rest.

Maybe not. As I am relieving myself, a guy walks into the bathroom. He turns, sees me and all I could say is that when you have to go, you have to go. You'd think that this would be enough, but no. Fate was not done with me yet, because after doing my business, I realize that there is no PAPER of any kind in the bathroom, just those damn hand dryers.

So I gingerly hike up my underwear and shorts and walk like a bow-legged cowboy to the counter, where I grab a pile of napkins. I repeat my waddle back into the bathroom and clean myself up and then I made a bee line out of that bathroom. (For those of you going to Montreal, there will be tours.)

Of course you have to have a sense of humor with this disease, or we would all reside in rubber rooms.

Hello Capt. Carl How are the kids Elmo and Waldo? All done with that mural? I was going to call my sister later but couldn't remember the name of that place you were painting the mural at. Now back to your thread. I laughed my ass off! I could have shit my own pants Fuck the grammar it sounded good to me even using the text to speech reader that I use. I can't think of anything to top your story but we still laugh about this today.It was about 7 years ago and my partner and I were living in our first home together. It was a small condo but not very far from where we live now. One hot summer day a storm rolled through and knocked out power to the entire neighborhood for a few hours. So to burn time we found ourselves outside playing Yahtzee. A young,dirty white trash boy wearing a wife beater ended up joining us for a few games. He wasn't the smartest thing and even needed help adding his score even though he was in high school. He thought we were just roomates and thought we had nice stuff and drive nice cars. His name was Jonathon and after that night he would just stop by to talk or to walk the dogs with us. He had no dad and his mom was never around so we felt bad for him. When we walked the dogs he was just amazed that we picked up the poop or dookie as he called it. On one of our dog walks he tells us about this girl he had gone out with and that he wouldn't kiss her because he heard from the boys at school that she swallows and he was worried she may have "The AIDS" as he called it. Little did he know that his new found friends had " The AIDS" We still laugh about it today. Occasionally I'll find myself asking my partner after sex if he has "The AIDS.